


Disobedient

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Bondage, M/M, No Sex, Non-Consensual Touching, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 07:58:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12813096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: Sam tangled a hand in Castiel’s dirty, messy hair and yanked his head up. Castiel fell forward weakly as Sam pulled, dragging him into the middle of the empty space between the table and the one-way mirror on the wall. He didn’t want to see his reflection, naked and bruised and weak.“What does a disobedient slave get?”





	Disobedient

The crack of a hand against his cheek echoed in the small, white tiled room and Castiel fell to the side, shoulder hitting the floor painfully. With his arms pulled tight behind his back, laced into a sleeve that ran from shoulder to the tips of his fingers, it took him a moment to sit back up on his knees, walls wavering in his vision and ears ringing.

“What does a disobedient slave get?”

Cheek stinging hotly, a wet trickle of blood dripped down his chin. Castiel shuffled back awkwardly, bumped against the table in the middle of the room. He wasn’t tied down to anything, with only his arms bound he could at least try to stand, could scoot gracelessly across smooth tiles, or curl up in a ball on the floor. Somehow, the choices made it worse.

His tormentor loomed above him, calm, composed, strong arms folded across a broad chest as he waited for an answer.

“He gets-” speaking hurt, breathing hurt, everything hurt, “he gets punished, excessively, and-” Castiel’s words were cut off as Sam stepped forward, closing the meager distance between them in one stride, and hit him flat-palmed across the face again. Castiel didn’t fall this time, instead he collapsed back against the leg of the table. Hunched over, spitting blood, he continued, “-for the, slightest offense, he gets, tortured-”

Sam tangled a hand in Castiel’s dirty, messy hair and yanked his head up. Castiel fell forward weakly as Sam pulled, dragging him into the middle of the empty space between the table and the one-way mirror on the wall. He didn’t want to see his reflection, naked and bruised and weak.

“What does a disobedient slave get?”

Castiel struggled. He didn’t seem capable of submission. If there were an option to squirm, to kick out, to try, he had to. So far, none of his masters had been able to beat it out of him, this inclination towards rebellion.

But Sam. He and Sam had been through this same conversation many times, the lines were rote, and yet the punishment always seemed new.

Through a split lip, tearing his hair out trying to get away from Sam’s hold, Castiel grit, “Fuck you.”

Sudden and brutal, Sam shoved him, laying Castiel onto his back with arms pinned to the floor twisted so sharply that he felt they might pop out of the sockets, and before Castiel could curl on his side, there was a rough boot planted on his chest and Sam leaned his weight onto Castiel. He was too fast to watch, and Castiel’s vision was spotty, but the swift hits of the small leather strop Sam favored left a fevered trail down the soft of his belly to his knees.

Castiel screamed. Bruises and welts and open sores mottled every surface of his body, being layered on top of each other as he continued his stupid, prideful disobedience.

His primary concern, though, wasn’t the punishment or what his newest master might see fit for him next. It was Sam. Who had a disconcerting ability to keep hurting Castiel in a manner that surprised him. Who was at times as soft as he was cruel. Castiel could feel himself beginning to crack. He had been exhausted his whole life, but no one had made him want to lay down and rest quite as well as Sam.

The beating stopped as swiftly as it started, his body throbbing, and Sam stood over him with a boot still digging into his chest.

“What does a disobedient slave get?”

Tears welled in his eyes, the tile cold under his skin, arms going numb and he could hear the rush of his heartbeat in his ears as he struggled to breathe.

“He gets, he gets what he deserves.”

Sam moved, lifting his foot to plant on the other side of Castiel’s shoulder, squatting over him and patting Castiel’s cheek.

“Close, but let’s try again.”

Trailing long fingers down Castiel’s neck, Sam lingered over a tender, aching spot of skin under his clavicle, pressing almost with curiosity. The barest suggestion of touch was overwhelming.

“What does a disobedient slave get?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, limp on the floor and broken in more ways than the hurts layered in his bones, his muscles, his skin, Castiel answered. “It gets what it deserves.”

“Very good.”

He could swear that was genuine approval in Sam’s voice.

Hauled up with two warm hands gripped onto his shoulders, Sam heaved Castiel into a sitting position. The shift only worsened the pain in his arms, whatever pressure on them that had numbed them released.

“Look at me.”

Castiel blinked the tears from his eyes, more ashamed at giving Sam what he expected than at crying.

A lone finger curled under his chin, lifted his face up.

“Look at me.”

Castiel opened his eyes, hardened his jaw.

“What is a slave’s purpose?”

Sam’s voice was quieter now, the finger under Castiel’s chin sweeping up to trace his jaw.

“Anything the master wishes.” Castiel grit out.

“That’s good.” Sam smiled.

One could tell when Sam was genuinely pleased, because his smile relaxed into a set of dimples.

Castiel's chin quivered.

The boundaries of his physical body shivered with the pulse of myriad aches, shifting outward, inward, different pains wakening and falling into silence creating shifting dynamics of his sense of space and self.

Curling forward as Sam moved behind him, Castiel heard the whisper of laces as Sam untied the sleeve around his arms. His fingers tingled numbly, and he braced for the wave of bright pain that would lance into his arms once the blood flow returned. Having removed the sleeve, Sam hauled Castiel up onto the smooth, cold table.

“On your back.”

Arms flopping uselessly without his control, Castiel scooted further onto the table, curled onto his side and pressed his burning face to the metal. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to shut out the sounds of Sam moving around, placing supplies back in the small locked cabinet by the door.

Jerking as Sam touched his hip, Castiel flailed one arm blindly, but Sam caught his wrist, tugged him onto his back, had him pinned to the table in a second.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Castiel had a few choice words to stay, still simmering in the back of his mind, but for the sake of preservation - at least for another night, he knew when he was beyond his limit - he bit them back.

Pulling Castiel’s wrist up high, Sam went about restraining him again, efficient in his movements.

“What does a disobedient slave get?”

“It gets what it deserves.”

Hands stretched above his head, elbows together and bent over the edge of the table, then bound with a clasp to somewhere, Castiel felt his breathing come harder as Sam moved to his ankles.

“What is a slave’s purpose?”

“Anything the master wishes.”

Legs tied spread to the corners of the table, Sam leaned his hands on the edge and looked at Castiel. Long hair falling over one side of his face, smile still faintly in place, Sam nodded and patted Castiel’s shin.

Stepping around the end of the table, Sam came to Castiel’s waist, fingers gently tracing up his leg, skipping around the edges of welts. Brushing the backs of his knuckles almost tenderly over the flaccid skin of Castiel’s cock, Sam moved his second hand to stroke through Castiel’s hair. As though it were to be reassuring.

“Please, please don’t….” Castiel whispered.

“Shh. You’ve got to learn, Cas.”

Shaking his head vigorously, Castiel twisted his hips as far up and away as he could, but Sam’s hand easily followed. Grasping his cock firmly, Sam squeezed tight at the base and stroked up, cupping his broad palm around the head and rubbing along the tenderest spots. Castiel didn’t want to. Apparently, he didn’t even have agency over his own bodily responses.

He was used to his masters seeking their pleasure in his body. Not to them, or anyone else, using his own pleasure against him. Unfurling warm and wanting inside him, without his permission, his body latched on to whatever felt good.

Stiffening under Sam’s attentions, Castiel closed his eyes and tried to go somewhere else. It was something he used to excel at, mind making hundreds of different heavens just for him to escape to. Sam seeped through his fantasies, touched him with such sweetness, lowered his mouth to Castiel’s neck, kissed him lovingly.

Castiel whimpered, and Sam crooned in his ear.

“Do you think you get to say no?”

Castiel shook his head.

“What are you?”

“A slave.”

Sam stroked down, cupped Castiel’s sac almost delicately.

“What are you?”

“A… a toy?”

Petting the sweaty hair back from Castiel’s forehead, Sam kissed his lips.

“What are you?”

“…nothing.”

“Good.”

Sam retreated, and Castiel took a deep, shuddering breath. It hurt the most when Sam touched him like that.

He didn’t see what Sam was after, but when he heard the noisy door of the cupboard, Castiel snapped back to attention. Sam draped a plain, white towel over his erection and pressed a cold pack to it. Castiel, for his meager, pathetic part, attempted to glare. He hadn’t wanted the pleasure in the first place, but to be denied it’s fulfillment only left him raw and confused.

When he’d softened, Sam brought the dreaded cage over and Castiel couldn’t mentally tell himself not to try escaping, the cuffs around his wrists and ankles biting into skin.

Sam, for his part, was quiet as he prepared.

Castiel’s eyes were stinging again, and he hated it. A distraction would be better than wallowing and waiting silently.

“Are you… are you soulless?” He asked.

That made Sam smile, dimples and all.

“No. I’ve just managed to find something I enjoy in my work. Whatever hand you’re given, you’ve got to find something you can take pleasure in. Things would be a lot easier for you, if you could do that. “

All the parts were lined up neatly between Castiel’s legs. Sam slid a thick metal ring over his cock and pulled his testes through. There was a wide, heavy ball on a hook that connected to the ring, forced into his body as Sam rested one hand gently on Castiel’s thigh.

It didn’t matter how many times Castiel was used; the calm, premeditated efficiency of the toys they used on him to make him, what, more serviceable, to take away his agency, to humiliate him… it did shame him.

Close to finished, Sam fitted the main part of the cage over his cock, concentric metal rings lined up like a ladder. The last part, a small hollow tube, was forced into his urethra. It all locked into place perfectly.

Hands balled into fists, muscles tensed, Castiel flinched when Sam stroked feather-light over his belly, caressing down his hip.

“Do you want me to turn the light off?”

That was new. Something Sam had never asked before today. Usually they left the light on, let him suffer here, unable to get adequate sleep.

Castiel opened his eyes, squinting against the harsh overhead fluorescents. Sam touched what few unbruised spots there were on his body, leaned over and kissed his lips like a shy lover would, restrained.

This was what hurt the most.

What few scraps of kindness Sam fed him.

As much as Castiel hated Sam, he was the only source for any meager affection in Castiel’s life here. It would be his undoing.

“Please.” Castiel managed.

Satisfied, before walking away to lock Castiel in the dark to consider the weights of his many faults as a slave, Sam hummed and kissed his forehead. “Okay. Today was good. Better.”


End file.
